


The Avengers Book Club (As Founded by Bruce and Natasha)

by TheCityLightShow



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Asexual Bruce Banner, Asexual Natasha Romanov, Asexual Relationship, Avengers Family, Canon Divergence - Post-Avengers (2012), Clint Barton Is a Good Bro, Copious Amounts of Fluff, F/M, Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, Small Amounts Of Angst Where The Hulk Is Concerned, Steve Rogers Is a Good Bro, There's Christmas In Here Somewhere Eventually, Thor Wanders Off A Lot, Tony Stark Is a Good Bro
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-22
Updated: 2017-11-23
Packaged: 2019-02-05 07:00:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12789297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheCityLightShow/pseuds/TheCityLightShow
Summary: The first time it happens, it's raining.The door slides open with a whoosh of air, and feet pad in. She doesn't greet him, but makes her way into the library. She selects a large dusty volume, and smiles when she catches his gaze. The Black Widow doesn't do casual affection, but Natasha Romanoff and the parts of her that she's rebuilt from the chipped off bits of other people revels in it.Bruce and Natasha find love in each other like falling asleep by the fire side - with growing warmth. (And Steve and Tony play too much chess.)This is ongoing, but each chapter will wrap itself up nicely.





	1. Austen, Rain and Glory

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ishipallthings](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ishipallthings/gifts).



> This is for ishipallthings over on **[tumblr](https://ishipallthings.tumblr.com/)**. She's been an utter dear to me and I adore her, honestly. Darlin' this is your fault, you reminded me that I really _really_ like BruceNat. Enjoy some fluff xx

The first time it happens, it’s raining.

Bruce can’t hear it inside the tower, but he can see it through the windows at the end of the long room Tony transformed into a library. Tony _thinks_ Bruce doesn’t know no such room existed before both Bruce and Steve expressed a love of reading, and Natasha had had that glint in her eye, but he knows. Pepper told him. It’s full of shelves of books Bruce strongly suspects all belonged to Tony’s parents – not in the least because a couple of the textbooks are scrawled all over, and more of the cookbooks and the more coding based maths books have Italian corrections added to them. Tony’s filled it with comfortable armchairs and throws and cushions. The fire is fake, but the room is always warm and glowing. It’s Bruce’s solace in a tower full of activity and life, and sometimes…

Right on cue, the door slides open with an almost silent whoosh of air, and feet pad in. The noise is intentional – socked feet on wooden floor, belonging to an assassin who could’ve charged at him with boots on and not made a noise. Natasha’s in a long grey hoody – she stole it from Tony – and purple sleep pants that Bruce recognises as his own. The socks, large fluffy and pale blue, knobbly as hell, are her own (Thor knitted them for her, under Clint’s instruction. Bruce has a scarf that Clint knitted for him, and he loves it very much. Tony pretends to hate the bobble hat he has, but he wears it all winter).

She doesn’t greet him, and he lowers his book to watch her as she walks past his chair – her fingers brush casually over his shoulder, and he feels it like a brand on his skin – and heads towards a shelf. She doesn’t take the books out of the library, and sometimes she’ll bring a notebook with her, to make notes of passages she enjoys. She loves Tony, and respects him as much as she would respect Fury, or Coulson, perhaps even Clint (though that respect isn’t blatant). Tony might not see it yet, but she does, and she will know where the books came from; she’ll treasure every little bit of trust placed in her.

She selects a large dusty volume with faded Italian on the spine. She smiles when she catches Bruce’s gaze as she turns, and Bruce finds himself smiling back. The Black Widow doesn’t do casual affection, but Natasha Romanoff and the parts of her that she’s rebuilt from the chipped off bits of other people revels in it. He fully expects her to pad over to his chair, but instead of stealing a cushion and folding herself to the floor to lean against his legs like she usually does, she hesitates.

That alone amazes Bruce – Natasha, for all her broken parts (and don’t they all have them?) is never anything but confident, her moves calculated for the best possible outcomes – to see her nervous makes the breath catch a little in Bruce’s throat. He wants to preserve this moment, staring up at her with a tiny smile and receiving a smile in those pale green eyes of hers. He almost expects her to bite her lip, but instead she remains silent, and gestures towards him. For a moment he thinks she means his book, but then he realises that it’s not his book at all – it’s where it rests.

He doesn’t think it all the way through before he moves his book aside so she can sit. The armchair is large enough that they’re not cramped together, and she folds herself into his lap like- like- like she belongs there. She’s half curled against his chest, her legs arched over his. She can rest her own book against her legs, and Bruce can rest his against her knees. Turning the pages is a little difficult, but Bruce doesn’t want to move the arm that’s almost cradling Natasha’s shoulders. She smiles as she read, and Bruce finds himself watching her mouth the Italian soundlessly more than he reads.

If Natasha notices (and she will have, Bruce knows) she’s kind enough not to mention it.

 

 

It doesn’t happen again for a few weeks. The next time Natasha joins him in the library she returns to leaning against his legs, and Bruce misses the weight of her curled against him. Her presence alone though is always a comfort – the other guy has a soft spot for her, for all the Avengers, but mostly for her – and he quiets when she’s around, like he too is quite happy just to bask.

When it _does_ happen again, Bruce isn’t alone in the library. The battle was long and hard and trying for all of them. Steve’s curled up in a window seat, sketching away, occasionally staring out across the skyline without seeing it. Clint’s high-up on the shelves, moving between them softly – Bruce thinks he’s reciting poetry to himself, but he only catches snippets as the archer comes closer. He’ll settle down to knit eventually, but he’s still got all that adrenaline to work off.

Tony, however, has crashed. He’s on the lounger opposite Bruce’s armchair, muttering to himself but otherwise not doing a whole lot with an arm thrown over his face. Bruce is buried in his armchair, wrapped in a blanket, book forgotten in his lap as he tries not to give in to the pounding in his head.

Natasha’s silent when she comes in, or quiet enough that she’s lost under the breathing and muttering, and the occasional scritch-scratch of Steve’s pencil. She murmurs something softly to Clint which brings her to Bruce’s attention, just beyond his peripheral vision. He almost turns to stare at her, eager to drink her in and see that she’s okay; that her hair is still vibrant and her eyes are alight, but instead he waits. She wanders over to Tony, and before Bruce can fully treasure the sight of her bundled into a fluffy grey blanket, she sweeps it off her shoulders and over the genius, pausing to tuck it around him and drop a swift kiss to the genius’s head. Tony’s mouth quirks, and stretches into a full, genuine smile at whatever she mutters, and then she’s standing up and turning away.

Bruce knows what she will ask before she reaches him, and with his book closed and placed beside the chair, he unfolds the blanket enough that he can open his arms to her. Surprise is brief across her face, and her smile is blinding though it is small. She’s tense as she curls up against him, her feet tucked up on his thigh instead of under the other arm of the chair, and she nestles her head in the hollow of his throat instead of on his shoulder. He wraps the blanket around them both, and when she seems to relax as he reaches around her to do so, he remains. They’re _cuddling_ , Bruce realises, and he can’t help but grin into her hair, even brush a featherlight kiss there in a sudden surge of bravery.

“Thank you…” she whispers.

“My pleasure.” He tells her honestly, and feels how she smiles against his chest.

 

 

Bruce is discussing Jane Austen with Pepper when she asks, in a lull of the conversation; “is Tony okay?”

Bruce almost blurts _why wouldn’t he be?_ but taking a moment to sip his tea – he’d made them a teapot, with china Tony bought him after teasing him about his other set, and they’re both curled into chairs in the library – he observes her. “You broke up.” He realises, and it isn’t a question. Pepper doesn’t ask him if Tony hadn’t told them, it’s clear she realises that by her pained expression.

“He deserves more than I know how to give him.” She tells him, and Bruce understands that. He tells her so.

“Maybe not quite in the same way,” he concedes – it’s been no secret among the Avengers that while Pepper likes them all as people very much, she’s not fond of what they do for a living – “but I know a little of it.”

“Oh?” Pepper asks, a chance to explain but no pressure behind it, and Bruce takes a moment to feel happy that he doesn’t hesitate to tell her.

“Asexual,” is all he has to say and she’s nodding in understanding. There’s a silence between them, a little tension, and Bruce tries to decide how to answer her question – wonders, in fact, if there’s a way to answer it that won’t hurt Pepper.

“Steve’s keeping him distracted.” He settles on. She sips her tea, but after hours of watching Natasha’s shielded countenance he catches the little bit of hurt there. “He probably doesn’t know what from, yet, just that Tony’s been a little distant. He’ll be just fine, and so will you.” Pepper smiles over the brim of her cup.

“Thank you.” She tells him. “They’d be good for each other,” she murmurs, and then a sly smirk is sliding onto her face that would make lesser men quake. On the contrary it makes _Tony_ nervous, and there’s not an Avenger besides Natasha that wouldn’t be a mite afraid of what that smirk meant. “Like you and a certain superspy.” She’s teasing – comfortable enough to do so, and oh, Bruce does love this little family they’ve all built for each other.

Oh.

Oh.

Bruce feels his cheeks heat a little, but makes no effort to hide it.

“Clint’s not my type.” He tells her instead, and she laughs. Pepper Potts doesn’t get to laugh enough, but maybe she will now. He ducks his head, and sips his tea. “She’s… glorious.” He tells Pepper, and Pepper’s face lights up in a smile.

“You’d be good together.” She replies, soft and nudging, but mostly just warm – like the thought of her friends happy makes her happy too. Bruce realises then-

“Why didn’t you ask her about Tony?” Pepper’s smile dims, and Bruce immediately feels wretched – months ago, the sudden flare of guilt, of anger at himself would’ve resulted in code green, but now he thinks his eyes don’t even flash. There’s no fear in Pepper’s face, only a sadness that Bruce knows he didn’t put there, but feels responsible for.

“She’s mad at me. For hurting Tony.”

“Huh.” Bruce replies, a little shocked – perhaps even a little jealous. Natasha cares for Tony even more than Bruce realised.

 

 

“He’s like a brother to me.”

It’s another rainy day in the Avengers library. Steve and Tony are playing chess with the board nestled between them on the window seat. They’re bickering over the merits of different strategies – and possibly cheating – but their faux anger is entirely off-set by the fact that they’re holding hands beside the board and playing one-handed. Bruce has been watching them for a few minutes, jealous of their little bubble and wondering what Natasha – curled up by his feet – thinks. He glances down, and while she’d not looked away from her book to speak, she now leans her head back against the chair. He brushes her hair out of her eyes with a featherlight touch and she smiles.

“Brother?” he asks. He keeps his voice low, but Steve and Tony are so wrapped up in each other they wouldn’t notice even if they were blatantly gossiping about them, aiming for a reaction. She nods, lips pursed.

“I always wanted one, as a little girl. An older one.” She closes her eyes and smiles. “Someone who would defend me, and wipe my tears away. Tuck me in. It was silly then, and perhaps it’s silly now.” Her eyes flick open, and Bruce can see the amusement dancing in them – so rare it is that she will mention her childhood, and even rarer still that she’ll smile when she does. “But he is what I’ve got.”

Bruce thinks, then, of the press conference after their last battle, when Tony had _eviscerated_ a reporter with nothing more than a scrutinising look and several well-placed sentences; all because the man had dared to question Natasha’s place on the Avengers. Bruce had watched it later, having been asleep when the conference itself happened, and he’d been furious, and then stress baked (blueberry muffins, that found their way down to the lab as a thank you). Natasha had been even quieter than normal. “He’s a good man.” Bruce tells her when he remembers he still hadn’t replied.

“He is.” She reaches up then, and cups Bruce’s cheek. “But he’s not you, Bruce.”

“I will merely aspire to his level of flamboyance.” Bruce agrees, and Natasha’s quiet laugh is everything. It’s not a giggle like Pepper’s is, nor is it Tony’s shocked breathless thing, or Steve’s full-body laugh when you truly amuse him. It’s soft and musical and might be one of the most beautiful things Bruce has ever heard. He reaches up to rest his hand over Natasha’s on his face and lean into it. They remain a moment, and Bruce presses a ghosting kiss to her fingers as she draws her hand away. She tugs his down to return the favour, and then returns to her book.

 

 


	2. Saint-Exupéry, Fairy Lights and Damascus Steel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Christmas in the Avengers Library_

“Boys!” Natasha chides, though she’s smiling.

This time it’s not raining in New York but snowing, and they’re all gathered in the library. Though they will all conglomerate in the main room to watch films and play video games together, the library is the heart of them. They’ll snack in here and read in here and nap in here. It’s a quiet solace, and each of them relaxes here; so this is where they’d put the main Christmas tree up.

Fairy-lights adorn the shelves with accents of holly and ivy here and there, and there’s an artistic smattering of tinsel. The rest of the tower reeks of festive cheer, oozes it with gaudy glitter, giant baubles and strategic mistletoe from the very walls, but the library is tasteful.

It’s homely. A comfort. They belong here, hidden away from a world out to judge them.

Natasha is sat next to Bruce as they all sit gathered around the table they’ve set up in here to hold the eggnog, hot chocolate, cookies, and other various edibles they’d deemed necessary for Christmas morning, and her ankle is hooked around his. Tony and Clint are arguing over who gets to hand out the gifts, and they pause long enough at her chiding for Steve to grab his boyfriend around the waist and haul him into his lap. He silences Tony’s protest with a tender, chaste kiss, and Tony’s too pleased to object. Their official relationship is very new, even if it’d been in the cards for months.

It's not just the Avengers gathered, with Phil, Pepper and Rhodey joining them for the day. Pepper is tucked into Rhodey’s side, smiling over at Tony, and things are okay. Bruce glances sideways as Natasha reaches out to catch the gift Clint as hurled at her before it can catch her in the face, and smiles. She’s not even looking, instead chatting to Pepper about some gala she’s going to attend. Natasha, while no longer working for shield in any official capacity (a choice she and Clint had not made lightly), is evidently still on the pay roll at Stark Industries. As such, she’s more than happy to do favours for Pepper, when board members and investors are being particularly difficult. She’s swift and effective, and always leaves her target on edge despite her sugar-glazed smile. (Bruce hates that particular smile; not its effectiveness, but why it was built. From his wall-flower place he’ll admire the grace of her steps and the flick of her hair, he’ll admire her eyes and even the shades of her make-up, but never that particular smile).

“Brucie!” Clint calls out, and Bruce barely has the time to turn away from his prolonged-admiration of his not-quite-girlfriend before Clint is tossing a gift his way. His hands _do_ go up to catch it, but it’s Natasha who snags it swiftly out of the air, holding it gently and passing it to Bruce like it’s precious. It’s not from her – the wrapping is atrocious, and Thor is on the edge of his seat like an eager puppy – but still she’s oddly careful with it, and gives him the warmest of her smiles before turning back to her conversation with Pepper. Clint raises an eyebrow at the display, and trades a singular look with Tony, before returning to handing out the gifts.

By the end of the morning, Bruce has amassed five presents. Some knitted, some books, some questionable substances… one is joint from Rhodey and Pepper – oh, Bruce bets Tony loves that, two of his favourite people being happy together – but there is no gift from Natasha. He’s not hurt, though perhaps he should be, but he feels somewhat safe in the knowledge that it merely means she has something planned for him. A small prickle of unease at the back of his neck is all he feels beneath the feelings of contentment he’s gathered over this morning of family. Steve shepherds Tony out of the library, insistent the genius is going to help cook dinner, and Thor leaves to go see his beloved Jane, while Rhodey jokes he’ll have to supervise the kitchen. Pepper follows him after a final word to Natasha, and when Bruce turns to look, Clint has grabbed up all his gifts and is dragging a bemused Phil from the library.

Natasha turns to him with an easy smile once they’re alone and the sound has faded away. There’s no mistletoe in the library, that had been the rule, but Bruce almost wishes for some now, as an excuse to cross the line. “Merry Christmas, Dr Banner.” She tells him, a teasing note to her voice, and reaches over to run a hand through his hair. It’s getting a little longer now, and she leaves it twined in the curls at the nape of his neck. “Thank you for the book.”

“I thought you might appreciate the original.” He tells her after a moment, distracted because this is the precipice of something that could break them both, but he doesn’t think it will. He’d gotten her Le Petit Prince, in the original French – a book Tony had offered him after a stilted conversation about _feelings_ and _family_ , and Bruce had instantly pondered sharing it with Natasha. There was little Bruce wouldn’t want to share with her that she hadn’t already seen somehow, but this felt… oddly personal. An appropriately romantic gift, veiled under the premise of their shared loved for both languages and classic literature. There were many quotes in it that Bruce identified strongly with, some famous and others not so. “And now here is my secret, a very simple secret: It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye.” He told her. She quirked a smile.

“And what is it that your heart sees?” She asked, and Bruce grinned. Before he could tell her though, she stood, drawing away her hand and her ankle. She offered him a hand – nails painted gold – and he took it as she asked, “come with me?”

They walked in silence, hand in hand, and Bruce trusted her not to lead him astray – the same man who had distrusted her so greatly in Kolkata, but not really. They’d all been remoulded since then, and Bruce was rather liking how comfortable he was. How safe, both in his hands, his actions and with his heart. Taking chances were liberation now, the Hulk still a curse but a manageable one. Natasha had, perhaps, been shattered and rebuilt with liquid gold – glowing now when the sun shines through.

They take the stairs instead of the elevator, avoiding the others, and she hums under her breath as she leads him down to her floor. Her hand is soft and warm in his, her skin a stark contrast to his weather-beaten own, and though her grip is relaxed her arm is taught. She’s nervous, but somehow that seems less important that the fact that she’s _showing_ him so. She’s nervous, but trusts him enough to let him know. She does this sometimes – knows that it will have been Tony that painted her nails three nights ago, probably post a nightmare – and Bruce can’t help but feel a little honoured every time.

Her floor is tidy, painted in subtle colours and nicely accented with the odd photo here and there. Most are recent photos from the last year and a half of Avenger-ing, but a few are not. Bruce has never asked, and maybe Natasha will never volunteer the information, but Bruce can’t find it in himself to mind. There are parts of past he would prefer to remain in pictures that he doesn’t have to take at more than face value, too. It’s not entirely personal, her floor, but it’s growing. The handmade throw over her couch is a testament to that, the Avengers combined patchwork attempts at crochet. She has teas in her kitchen that aren’t entirely to her own personal tastes (they’re his, he notes, but will not ask, not yet), but she leads him past, and- _that little prickle grows-_ into her bedroom.

Bruce can’t help the slight curl of dread in his stomach – he has had sex. He wasn’t entirely repulsed by it. If it will make Natasha happy… he could. But he would rather not, and Natasha would not appreciate his dishonesty on the matter either way. Natasha doesn’t hesitate though, and letting go of his hand she lies down on what is clearly her side of the bed, curled towards him on the far side. She smiles softly and beckons.

“Lie with me, Bruce.” She asks, and there’s a quality to her voice Bruce has never heard before. It’s so far from any form of seduction he’s ever seen her use that he does, laying slowly, carefully, down on the other side of the bed. “Is this okay?” she asks, and Bruce knows there’s another question there, but he’s not sure what it is. He nods, and she reaches out to take his hand.

“I am asexual.” Natasha is matter-of-fact in her statement, not outwardly defensive but her walls are all up. She’s expecting a rejection, perhaps a sneer – until her face transforms, and Bruce knows his relief must be blatant on his face. “Too.” She tacks on the end, and laughs softly, before leaning forward to press a tender kiss to his lips, whatever speech she’d had planned forgotten. Maybe she would have slept with him to keep him, but Bruce doubts it. After all she has reclaimed, she would not want to lose that part of herself if she didn’t have to. There’d be no trust, perhaps even no respect in a relationship founded on that. It doesn’t matter, though. They fit together.  

Bruce lets his eyes flutter shut, and leans a little way when she goes to pull back. She’s soft and warm, and oddly pliable as he uses their hand-holding to pull her a little closer. His hand is large on her waist, but even with the hulk under his skin she’s not breakable to him – she’s like damascus steel, beautiful, invincible. She curls one hand around his neck, the other still curled under her head. When the kiss ends, their foreheads lean together. There’s no fast-breathing, no one-sided frustration that Bruce has suffered through and wonders now if Natasha’s had to fake, there’s only the soft puffs he can feel ghost across his skin.

She kisses him again, lightly, and then tucks herself against him, keeping their foreheads together. He wraps both arms around her a little tighter, feels how she grins, and kisses her nose.

Merry Christmas indeed.

 

 

Boxing day sees the Avengers (minus Thor) laid around the library floor on cushions and throws playing monopoly. Natasha is playing, laid on her stomach and slowly but surely bankrupting the boys, and Bruce has abstained. He’s reading one of the books he received for Christmas, leant against Natasha and she’s been smiling every time she glances back at him. Happy suits her, Bruce thinks – it suits her now and it will suit her tomorrow, and every day when Bruce can make her happy, just like he did this morning merely by being there when she woke.

Some days there will be storms between them – given their histories, their personalities, their jobs and their lives it’s inevitable – but today the skies are clear, and the clouds are tainted pink in the sun. Bruce closes his eyes for a moment to listen to them bicker. It washes over him, the words lost to the warmth behind them. Clint is bankrupt and Tony’s close to it with all his properties mortgaged. Steve and Natasha will battle it out, and then there will be cake.

Bruce thinks this is what his childhood should have been. There should have been love, and games, and _people_. He closes his eyes against the sudden surge of bitterness and breathes slowly. The Hulk’s presence in the back of his mind stirs, and Bruce hates it, still. He’d give anything to have his head be his alone again – it’d never been quiet in the first place. He places his book aside and sits up. He needs a moment.

Returning Natasha’s smile and brushing off her concern, he picks up the tea tray and holds it up like a question. Steve holds up two fingers for him and Tony, but neither draws their gaze from the game, and Natasha gives him a little nod and a smile. He wanders into the kitchen, and once he’s set the tray on the counter top and flicked on the kettle, he leans heavily on the counter top and takes deep even breaths. It takes a few minutes for the Hulk’s presence to fade away again, hot and burning as it goes – despite the green that infects him, the Hulk’s presence is red.

“Need a hand?”

Bruce opens his eyes to see Clint leant in the doorway. He smiles. “Thank you.”

The archer merely gives a sloppy salute and moves past Bruce to flick the kettle back on. They refill the milk and sugar, and pull out the various teabags in silence – Tony is having coffee, because Bruce is feeling generous – and its tense without being uncomfortable. Clint has something to say (for all his social awkwardness, Bruce can read the Avengers fairly well now) and Bruce isn’t going to rob him of it.

“Don’t fuck this up, Bruce.” Clint tells him when he hands Bruce another mug. “I trust you, and I trust the Hulk, but…”

“You’re used to things breaking.” Bruce finishes, understanding. It’s not a question of trust, and it’s not even a threat on Natasha’s behalf (she wouldn’t appreciate it); it’s asking for a promise. Clint swallows hard.

“Exactly.”

“We’ll be alright Clint. All of us.” Bruce promises him – it’s hard not to miss how Clint ghosts around the tower some days, Loki’s influence still present in the grief it continues to cause him. Clint grins.

“C’mon Doc, I wanna watch Tasha destroy Cap.”

**Author's Note:**

> As always, you can find me at my **[tumblr](http://thecitylightshow.tumblr.com/)**!! Everyone is welcome to just start chatting to me, so drop by! I don't bite :D


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